


Stress Relief

by smileyfacegauges



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, One Shot, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Transgender, Transman, golly gee, i can't be arsed to sit around and EDIT like a normal person, i only write one shots ok, i try to be Really Cool about writing, it's some more old trans Jon y'all cuz that's all i got, look i can be Poignant, they do the fucc in arkham at nite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 08:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileyfacegauges/pseuds/smileyfacegauges
Summary: Jonathan Crane puts too much psychiatric thought into bed sheets before and after he's getting fucked. One shot, porn without plot.





	Stress Relief

Jonathan twists the starched, threadbare sheet in his clawed fingers. It smells of bleach and mothballs. The Arkham bed dressings had a forgotten prison-like quality to their composition and a hospice care odor ingrained deep in their old threads. Nobody liked it. It could be comforting and it could burrow deeply into the subconscious and ruin fond memories of detergents at home.

The puckered corner of the sheet strains on the thin mattress, and he watches the creases flatten as he clenches his fist. Then his eyelids flutter, and he emits a whisper of a groan, and drives half of his face into the noisy springs below.

Warm, nimble fingers have cupped his hips and aided their tilt, and the spongy head of his cellmate’s cock parts the slick lips of Jonathan’s pussy. As the glans collides against the underside of his swollen, erect clit, he utters another gravelly moan and lazily thrusts downwards. His partner remains still, letting him fuck his tiny dick on him, but soon pulls his hips back and seeks out the wet hole that awaits him.

When the thick shaft penetrates and sinks slowly into his body, Jonathan rocks his old body back to meet his lover’s hips. He pulls his elbow to his ribcage in tense pleasure, and with it, he frees the straining sheet from its corner with a dry pop. The loose elastic running through the hem of the sheet contracts just enough to be obnoxious, naturally coiling on itself and inching towards the inmate’s face. It forces Jonathan to mash it into his hand and yank it beneath his head to keep it taut and stationary. He won’t allow some annoying sheet distract him and ruin the mood of being fucked tonight, even if he has to smell the moldy mattress more personally as a compromise.

The smooth push of his partner’s thrust knocks another sound from his throat, and the irritability over his sheets from his head. His cock practically glides inside of him, aided by the thick, natural lubrication in his walls, and if Jonathan allows himself some egotism – because he’s pretty sure that he felt his young lover’s dick thicken even more since he’s been inside him. It brings a smile to his thin lips, then a chuckle, and a contented groan.

Over his shoulder, lips kiss his silver hair, and a jittery, heavily accented voice wrapped in velvet asks him, “Why do you laugh, motek?”

“No reason, sweetheart,” the older man sighs through his smile. He rolls his eyes to their corners, opening them to slits to peer back at Jervis behind him. He’s met with the tanned, freckled, sweet face of his cellmate, whose beard still smells of the peppermint tea he’d spilled at dinner. Jonathan tilts his head back, inviting a kiss, but receives Jervis’s forehead on his temple instead.

That’s fine. The younger man is a tender lover. Jonathan arches his back and closes his eyes, willing to contort his body and keep their heads pressed to one another while their bodies are connected. Jervis’s breath comes short between his clenched teeth as he pumps his hips, driving his cock deep into the hot swells of Jonathan’s pussy.

Incredible, how he feels like he was crafted to perfectly suit his girth. Jervis isn’t monstrous by any means; he’s a little more than average, though Jonathan had complimented him many times over how thick his cock could be. He knew all of his spots, and he shuffles his knees to accommodate the new angle for his hips, and very easily earns his prize: Jonathan’s weak, crackling moan. 

Yes, he loved pleasing Jonathan. Jervis lowers himself to his elbow and shoves his hand beneath his old lover’s hips. His fingers mow down his humid pubes and find his thickened clit, and he pinches it between two fingers. Jonathan trembles and bucks into his hand, dropping his head into the mattress, and digs his fingers into the sheet hard enough to threaten to tear. 

The Hatter chuckles, and lets his chest connect to his partner’s thin back, and dips his head into the nest of hair splayed over his shoulder. Jonathan is so wet that he can hear the gush of his cunt on nearly every thrust. He slows his hips now, his cock sliding shallowly in and out of his body, lingering at the firm push to the hilt. He’s perfected his timing with his little hooded dick, and he pinches and jerks Jonathan off to match the pace of his thrusts. 

He’s getting closer. They both are. Jonathan clenches his pussy tight around Jervis and maintains that grip, encouraging his languid thrusts to get harder, and gradually faster. The metal bed is creaking now with the force, and though the dull clap of Jervis’s hips on Jonathan’s ass are as quiet as he can manage, it’s no longer secret what’s going on in this shared cell. 

The old man cuts off his gasp, and tries, perhaps in vain, to spread his legs wider. The tension has built within him, a pressure on a rubber stopper that won’t be able to hold out much longer. “Jervis, c’mon sweetheart, you got it.. you got it--!”

Jervis draws his head back just in time to see Jonathan’s jaw drop, and his brow furrow. His shoulders hike to his ears and his legs are tight and his pussy clasps so tight around his cock that it feels like he’s trying to push him out. But no, he’s cumming, and Jervis persists. He bucks his hips faster, plunging his dick hard into the hot, constricting walls of his cunt, and by proxy grinding his peaked clit into his cupped fingers. 

As Jonathan begins to shake, he knows he’s being overstimulated, and yet doesn’t let up. He’s going to be half-heartedly scolded for this in a few minutes, and he’ll take it with a shy smile. The Scarecrow whimpers underneath the raw sparks of the overabundance of orgasm, and can start to relax when Jervis’s hand moves away from his crotch so that he can better wrap his arms around him in a heated, tight bear hug. 

Jervis buries his face into Jonathan’s layered grey hair as he weakly thrusts inside of him. The first jet of sperm shoots forcefully into his pussy, drawing a drunken groan from the body below. The younger man clutches his lover as he unloads the rest, pushing his cum deeper into him until he can’t handle his own overstimulation. This is where he stops, his dick twitching and softening inside a drenched vagina, his heavy breath becoming more stabilized, their sweat mixed between their bodies.

When soft, Jervis wiggles his hips to flop out of Jonathan, and readjusts his legs to get more comfortable. Sweet as the Hatter can be, now in hindsight does Dr. Crane realize the trouble he’s in. He doesn’t even get to scold Jervis tonight about his mild offenses. The former contortionist has him trapped beneath him in an embrace that makes him feel like an oversized carnival toy. Naturally, he’s asleep in a record setting mere seconds.

But Jervis deserves the sleep, like he deserved to have a little stress-releasing session with the good doctor. Hell, it was stress relief for Jonathan, too, after the hell day that Arkham had in store for them. 

Jonathan Crane tugs experimentally on the starched, threadbare sheets provided for the patients in the asylum. It smells of bleach and mothballs, and now the sweat of lovemaking. The government-issued linens are prisonlike in quality and remind him of an elderly home he’ll never have to be placed in, and he never liked them. As disgusting as he thought they were, in the lonely, colder moments that followed intimacy in this traitorous sanctuary, they had some sick comfort to provide him; a thought, that distracted his mind, and brought him closer to sleep.

Frayed as they were, the sheets in Arkham Asylum were woven by secrets that would, hopefully, thankfully, could never be spoken.


End file.
